On The Cloud Of Unknowing
by DarkmoonSigel
Summary: England thinking about past instances involving America and how they got together over the centuries. Human names used. Series inspired by the Gorillaz's song. Seme England. Rated M for a reason. Yaoi warning. Don't like don't read.
1. Chapter 1

An ancient nation sat in his parlor, his slender form nestled deeply into a dark Chesterfield, a steaming cup of Earl grey at his side being ignored. His clover eyes stared out blankly, looking at nothing in particular. He was reminiscing about things long lost, looking at memories like they were precious rare gems, studying their sparkle, their fire, their flaws of which there were many….so many.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOO  
On the cloud of unknowing  
My world seems open  
Every satellite up here is watching  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOO

Many, many years ago, Arthur remembered hearing an old joke in passing.

"Buy land, they're not making it anymore."

He had laughed himself silly over it in private. It was too perfect not too really. Land…that had….has always been the issue, hadn't it…so many wars….so many lies….so much death over it…

When he had heard of the New World like all the rest of the nation, Arthur longed for it.

Land meant power. It meant wealth. It meant security.

Every nation sought these things. He who has the most toys wins if you will….

Tino had told them about the boy, sending Francis and himself practically into a frenzy to claim the new nation first. Arthur wanted it so much, the need to claim it all, make it his.

As the boat touched down on a pebbly shore, he had disembarked on a land as rich in color as his own, it vivid shades of green and watercolor bright with wild flowers. Francis had come along as well, the pair followed by Tino who still cried over his loss, the useless ponce.

After some searching, a golden head appeared out of the underbrush. The nations stood off to the side watching the little one for a moment as he talked in the language of his land to trees and flowers. He was tiny and perfect, clad only in a long white dressing gown, the collar of which was bordered with a bright crimson ribbon, his bare dirty little toes curling into the dirt. His hair was a shade of sun drenched sparkling honey, the strands wild especially a long bit in the front that practically stood up on end. He continued to babble happily to his flora, unaware of the older nations studying him intently. Arthur fairly jumped at the opportunity.

"He looks like me! I told you he was family!", Arthur yelled, pointing at the smaller nation who stared back at him curiously, but lost interest as a colorful butterfly decided to dance in some stray sunlight.

"He is obviously mine. Look at his hair.", Francis retorted back immediately, flipping his own silky mane over his shoulder.

"The hell he is! Are you already drunk, frog?! It is blatantly obvious that he is mine!", Arthur smirked, already drawing closer to the oblivious young one.

"Don't you think he looks like me?", Tino spoke up, a note of hope in his voice. He was quickly shot down by the pair and sent running back to the boat crying.

Arthur and Francis stomped up to the child who sat in a patch of soft clover, playing with shafts of sunlight, trying to grab at them with chubby fingers. He looked up at them with wide sky blue eye, clear and innocent. Arthur glared back at him, un-quavered by the angelic visage that studied him back openly. Arthur was here for him so there was no room for feelings in this matter. A quick subtle glance over at Francis confirmed that he was thinking the very same thing, the Frenchman's sapphire eyes hard and cold.

The tiny nation gasped in fear at their hungry faces, sensing danger of some sort. He jumped up in a flash, running off immediately. As fast as the older nations were, the babe was faster, running deep into the heart of his forest to lost easily to his pursuers.

And so the game began…..

Arthur and Francis established settlements there, waiting for their chance when the other finally decided to emerge again. They chased him, hounded him, hunted him tirelessly in seemed. The blond being would always escape in the end though, like wisps of fog in shadows of valleys and into dark corners of the forest.

"This is not working.", Arthur sighed, sitting down in exhaustion by a small stream. He splashed some of the cool clear water onto his sweaty face, before leaning back comfortably into the embrace of a giant oak tree. He could track an animal for leagues with the barest of signs but this child was like a spirit, seeming to disappear at will. The Englishman groaned loudly in his frustration, tossing bit of sticks into the flowing water before him. As he watched the pieces of wood be carried off, Arthur took a moment to look around him and actually see the forest for its trees. This land was beautiful, full of life, brimming with the beat of power that thrummed noiselessly through the elements. Though he could not catch the full meter of it, Arthur started to sing along to it anyway in an old tongue of his own land. His voice was soft but clear, melodic and flowing sweet.

A tiny noise off to his side made Arthur crack his eyes open, expecting to see a squirrel. He almost stopped singing entirely in his surprise. The little evasive one was quite near him, literally within arm's reach, peaking out from under a bush. Arthur acted like he hadn't seen him, making himself relax back into the tree.

Through slit eyelids, Arthur tracked the tiny one as he crawled toward him, entranced it seemed by his voice and language. Arthur considered his options quickly, coming up with multiple forms of definite capture. Everything stopped though in shock when a small hand touched his knee hesitantly. Arthur's eyes shot open to see the child sitting right next to him, wide eyed and totally unguarded. Arthur made himself stay still in his silence as cold emerald met soft azure.

The little one looked up at him expectantly, tilting his head to the side in obvious query. Arthur took it as a prompt to keep singing, quickly choosing a song.

"Let never a man a wooing wend that lacketh things three,. A store of gold, and open heart, and full of charity; And this was seen of King Henry though he lay quite alone, For he's taken him to a haunted hall seven miles from the town.", Arthur sang, picking a long song of a winding tale to buy himself some time. His fingers itched to snatch the other up and claim him, so that he could taunt Francis with him by dinner…..

…..But it had been so long since he had sang in front of anyone(besides his fairy friends of course) or had anyone actually want him to sing to them. Arthur choked on his words in realization, halting the song abruptly. The older nation started to curl up into himself, mentally and physically as the little one blinked in confusion up at him. Arthur grew red in embarrassment, waiting for the other to start mocking or ridiculing him like so many others had done so before in the past. Wales had always been the bard of the brothers, backed by Scotland, a notable wordsmith himself. Francis had also tormented the English nation about his singing to the point where he almost never bothered with it anymore.

A tense moment held, broken when the babe climbed awkwardly up into Arthur's lap, partly up his chest to stare at his mouth. Tiny baby fingers, soft and clumsy, drew upward tentatively toward him to touch wind burned sculpted lips, parting them. Arthur jerked his head back, tasting dirt off of invading fingertips.

"Do you mind!? How unbelievably rude! What in the hell do you think you are doing?!", Arthur snapped, spitting the taste of soil out. The child continued to look up in confusion at him though.

"The pretty sounds. Where did they go?", the petite being uttered in a high bell like voice, pure and clear as spring. Arthur stared back at him, his gaze matched calmly.

"It is called a song. I can finish it if you would like.", Arthur found himself saying, a little shyly. The small nation sat back down in his lap as if it was the most natural place in the world for him, clearly waiting for Arthur to begin again, looking up at him with an impatient expectant look.

That is how Francis found them later that the day, following the sound of Arthur's voice. The scene before him was an odd one. Arthur sat smiling down at the tiny nation they had been hunting for months now, the fair being in his very lap half dozing, half swaying to the songs that fell freely from Arthur's lips. Francis had forgotten that the Arthur could look that peaceful and happy. The Englishman's usual scornful expression was lost to softer, more delicate emotions as a connection was being made between the two. Arthur leaned forward so that their forehead touched every so slightly, the babe opening his eyes tiredly to focus on vibrant forest green ones. The child raised his hands in response to lightly touch pale cheeks, smiling back dreamily.

This would never do of course….

"La! I see you have finally caught him!", Francis yelled overly loud, causing the two to jump, the smaller one taking immediate action of fright and flight.

Arthur swore bitterly in long fluid streams of random curses as he watched the golden head disappear yet again into the forest's deep. Francis felt a small victory despite the loss. He could care less if the babe got away today, just as long as he was not with Arthur. Francis ran away laughing, as he skillfully dodged the Englishman's projectile, both verbal and physical.

Still grumbling, Arthur started his way through the wood, cursing the existence of the French in general, all the while though missing the light weight that had been upon him. He felt something inside of him that he usually only associated with being in the company of his fairy friends. It was a warmth that filled him with a deep longing. Arthur clutched at his chest almost painfully, not understanding it as he tried not to think about clear eyes, the color of endless skies on a cloudless day.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOO  
But I was here from the very start  
Trying to find a way to your heart  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOO

They sat in the sun drenched field full of multicolored wild flowers of Trillium, Bloodroot, Geranium, and Yellow Goats beard.

Upon their arrival, Alfred ran off immediately of course, zigzagging aimlessly about it seemed as Arthur unpacked the basket with measured care, setting aside the food and drink to unfold a large blanket. He spread out the covering on a patch of shorter grass. Matthew helped him the best that he could, hanging onto a corner one handed, the other occupied by his forgetful bear companion. When their task was accomplished(will no help whatsoever from Alfred who was currently imitating bees for some reason or another), the Canadian immediately sat down upon it to hug his bear tightly, cuddling up with Arthur as the nation joined him, pulling out a book of sonnets to read. He glanced over a few minutes later and confirmed that the little Canadian nation had fallen asleep.

Alfred soon returned with garlands of flowers which he put upon Arthur's and Matthew's head, almost reverently. His air of odd formality caused the older nation to chuckle, as his crown of wild flowers settled on messy golden locks. Matthew woke up long enough to adjust his crown sleepily, losing interest a moment later to slumber. Arthur pulled the little ones into his lap. Matthew claimed his legs and lower waist while Alfred climbed up to wrap his short arms around his slender neck. Arthur laid back to be more comfortable, his torso claimed immediately by a familiar squirming weight.

"What is this?", Arthur said softly, not wishing to wake the other one.

"It's your crowns.", Alfred smiled, playing with the collar of Arthur's shirt, studying the fine details of the buttons on it.

"They are lovely. Where is yours though?", Arthur asked, pushing back strands of golden hair as azure blue met forest green.

"I don't get one.", Alfred said with a small frown. Arthur tilted his head in mild confusion.

"Why not?", he asked, puzzled as the little nation sat up on his chest awkwardly to point up at the sky.

"Because I'm the hero and I have to protect you!", Alfred declared, his expression ridiculously vibrant yet sincere.

"So I'm a princess then?", Arthur said somewhat dryly. Alfred thought about it seriously for a moment, sitting back on his little butt in deep thought, his contemplation tangible.

"You're my princess.", Alfred decided, nodding sincerely.

"Humph….hardly. First off, I am not a girl. Secondly, I am your caretaker not some helpless half-wit in need of fetching.", Arthur stated, rolling his eyes while making a mental note not to read any more fairy tales so soon before bedtime. Alfred was starting to get some strange notions and habits from them.

"Last of all, you are hardly in any position to be making such lofty promises.", Arthur yawned, leaning up on his forearms to view his now pensive colony. Alfred was quiet for a long moment, staring off into the distance.

"America? Are you alright?", Arthur asked worriedly, chiding himself about perhaps being too harsh. He was struck speechless by the intense look that met his own gaze levelly for one so young.

"Then I will just have to become stronger and bigger to protect you.", Alfred whispered, his words sounding oddly more like a promise that a statement. Arthur felt strange emotions swirl in him, one of them being noticeable fear trailing icy tendrils across his heart. Pure dread of him losing his precious innocent, but even worse…..a fear of him succeeding. Alfred….America was young and still growing. If he survived adolescence, he could possibly become really anything. Arthur could lose him or be left behind by him in the process. He wasn't sure which scenario was worse really.

Arthur laughed shakily even as he felt the blood drain out of his face and his extremities under the weight of that steady gaze.

"Ha-heh….out of the mouth of babes…that is unnecessary, pet.", Arthur said, sitting up to wrap his arms around the smaller nation, holding him close. He couldn't bear to look into those fathomless eyes anymore. Arthur pulled back far enough to see Alfred smiling widely up at him, back to normal instantly, so much so that Arthur started to wonder if the little one had even known what he had been actually saying. Arthur wondered if he was just being silly looking for deeper meaning in the words of a child. Alfred was a sweet boy, but not the brightest star in the sky.

Arthur cuddled with his colony, firmly banishing any further thoughts on the matter as he curled up protectively around the twins. The trio fell into a deep sleep under a blanket of warm sunlight and dancing butterflies.

Arthur dreamed of fairies and his woods, so lovely, dark and deep.

Matthew dreamed of snow, visions of soft white filled his mind.

Alfred dreamed of stars…..and of so much more…his thoughts as endless and deep as space itself as he reached for something bright…

Alfred dreamed of the future.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOO  
On the cloud of unknowing  
My world seems open  
Every satellite up here is watching  
But I was here from the very start  
Trying to find a way to your heart

AN-Yes, England is going to be the seme in this arch, I have very firmly decided, but I am also planning on some odd quirks for America as well.

btw I do not own 'The Cloud of Unknowing' done by the Gorillaz.

Time to learn something-  
'Buy land. They have stop making it' is a quote by Mark Twain, whom I adore. Seriously the man said some of the most brilliant things ever. Google his quotes and better yourself for it.

I referenced Wales and Scotland cause Wales is known as 'the Land of Bards' and Scotland is famed for its poets as well. I figure that is something they could hang over England's head until he bitch slapped them back with a thick volume of Shakespeare.

'King Henry' is actually an old, old English song that has seen new life due to SteeleyeSpan, a band who specializes in modernizing ancient English folk songs with modern flair. 'Gaudete' is a particularly beautiful example of this


	2. Chapter 2

The old nation sighed to himself, shaking his head at the sweeter moments, a familiar voice, cutting through his thoughts.

"Whatcha doing sitting here all by yourself in the dark?", Alfred laughed, too loud…..too brightly for Arthur's liking really, as he leaning against the doorframe. The elder nation scowled back at him, shifting irritably in his chair.

"Go away, git.", Arthur sniffed, making a show of sipping his now cold tea. Alfred's smile never falter though, just changed in tone.

"Sweet talker.", Alfred cooed back softly, walking over to the glaring nation who pointedly ignored him, becoming suddenly very interested with a dark corner.

"Why are you even here? Do you not have something better to do that bother me?", Arthur muttered, even as he noticed the other kneel down before him.

"Yeah. Tons of stuff…..Things to do, people to screw….But I came to see you anyway!", Alfred said overly cheerful, reaching over to play with Arthur's pale hands. The Englishman struggled briefly to draw them back, giving up after a moment with a muttered curse.

"Good God. Whatever for? I am hardly the power I was.", Arthur said disdainfully, watching the American amuse himself by playing with his fingers. If it had been him, Arthur would not have bothered with the likes of his being now, a fallen empire.

"I like you better this way.", Alfred murmured, studying delicate digits, especially graceful compared to his own larger, rougher hands covered in heavy calluses.

Arthur snorted, scowling deeper at him. He could understand that though, lording over weaker nations. He slumped in his armchair, dejected but understanding. Alfred released his hands at this despondent gesture, moving forward to rest his golden head in his lap.

"Mine…mine alone. No other distractions….just you and me…..like it used to be.", Alfred sighed contently, moving his arms to stroke at lean sides.

"You are a fool.", Arthur said bitterly, giving into the urge to stroke at sunshine strands in a tender fashion.

"Yes, but I'm your fool.", Alfred whispered, mouthing the words into a slender thigh as he looked up into the cold emerald eyes that regarded him.

"There is that….", Arthur murmured, his eyes half mast as he went back to his memories.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOO  
They've gone out with the tide  
Lost at sea somewhere, waiting  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOO

Ludwig held Arthur at gunpoint, the dull gray barrel aimed directly at the island nation's fair head. To Arthur's credit, he did not flinch or give an inch, even went so far as to sneer back at the German with his nose high in the air with disdain.

Alfred rocked back on his heels as if highly amused about the entire situation, dire as it was. He smiled at the overly serious German, his sky blue eyes meeting intense ice blue ones, the American's orbs glittered with poorly hidden mirth.

"Do you find this funny, Herr Jones?!", Ludwig growled, starting to lose his temper with the oddly jubilant nation.

"Doitsu!? What are you doing!?", Feliciano cried out, cringing in the background with his little white flag fluttering in hand.

"Italia, stay back!", Ludwig ordered roughly, his aim never wavering. He finally had the drop on the English nation, the American his only real problem at the moment. The nation from across the sea was just a child really though, inexperienced…..weak. He was a fool and even more so, he was bluffing. The juvenile American was putting on a brave face to throw him off.

"Well Herr Jones, you don't even seem to have a weapon do you? You are very poorly prepared to be saving anyone.", Ludwig smirked to be strangely answered back with another gleeful look, like the damn fool was having the time of his life. The German did not like being toyed with….and yet he was also getting a bad feeling about him. Was the American crazy perhaps?

"Nah. I don't need a gun. Heroes don't need them.", Alfred grinned taking his hands out of his pockets. He lifted them up slowly to show the bullets being held in the spaces between his fanned fingers, six in all.

"…Ja….the American was crazy…."

"And what do you plan to do with those? Throw them at me?", Ludwig commented dryly, resisting the driving urge to face palm. It was like dealing with Feliciano. At least that idiot remembered to carry a gun even if all the bullets for it were in his other pocket. Alfred's eyebrows shot up in surprise though.

"Awwww sheeeee-it. So you have seen this trick then!?", Alfred said disappointedly, his sigh of sadness audible.

"I don't like being mocked or having my time wasted.", Ludwig growled, fixing a cold look on the smiling nation.

"Ya know, funny thing is neither do I, but it always seems to work out that way. I don't even know why I'm bothering to save him.", Alfred sighed dramatically, playing with his bullets as he bounced them back and forth in his palm.

"Bugger off then, git!", Arthur spat at him, turning his head to glare daggers at his former charge. To his surprise, Alfred smiled back almost sadly in a way.

"Like I could ever do that….plus I really hate seeing anyone point a gun at ya…..even if it is me…..", Alfred murmured, his words almost lost on the wind. He left the other nations speechless as he looked away from them to start playfully juggling the bullets.

"So I tell ya what, kraut. You let ole eyebrows go and I won't hurt either of ya. Scout's honor of course.", Alfred shrugged, totally ignoring the awkward moment following his words. In response to it and the lack of action on the German's part, Alfred took off Texas, hooking his glasses into a side pocket with an affectionate pat.

"I fail to see how making yourself blind will help your position.", Ludwig snorted, the American shrugging in response.

"And I fail to see why you align yourself with someone who don't have enough sense to pour piss out of a boot before pulling it on. It's a state dumbass and you can't hold onto a state as large as Texas and not see further than most. I can see ya just fine, sausage sucker.", Alfred snorted, rocking back and forth on his heels.

Ludwig let out a bark of rare laughter. "You are mad and ….", Ludwig started to say as something unseen whisked by his face to graze his cheek, a trickle of blood running down his pale Aryan features.

"What in the hell….", Ludwig whispered, touching his cheek tentatively to see crimson on his gloved fingers. He watched Alfred juggling only five bullets now.

"I'm serious. Let England go, or the next one goes into Italy.", Alfred warned in cheerful tones, still smiling widely at the stunned German. Ludwig looked over at Arthur who was staring back at the American as wide eyed in shock as he was.

"Last chance…..", Alfred reminded, seeming more intent on seeing if he could roll a bullet over his knuckles that actually carrying out his threat.

"Give it up Herr Jones! I obviously have the advantage!", Ludwig yelled, keeping his eyes on the American to see him palm the bullet, drawing back his arm, flinging it forward at an arc.

"He is throwing the bullets…", Ludwig wondered, his eyes straining to catch any movement. It was too fast. Alfred's palm opened, there was a whisper of rushed air, and then a spray of blood as Feliciano fell back on the ground screaming in pain as clutched his leg.

"Italia!", Germany yelled in shock, his attention torn between England, America, and a sobbing Italy who begged his real name out through clenched teeth. For his part, Alfred continued to juggle the bullets, four in total now.

"Hey….do ya remember those ole lock and flint pistols. Shit on a shingle, I hated those damn things. You were just better off throwing them sometimes. So get this…I'm just fucked this one war with no gunpowder but all the bullets you would care to spit at and then BAM! It comes to me, like a bolt of lighting. Just wing the fuckers. No need for wind compensation really, just pure brute force and a little aim and wham-o! Been practicing it for centuries ever since.", Alfred rambled on good naturally, ignoring the awed nations in company.

"But that is impossible.", Ludwig stammered, his mind trying to grasp how hard one would have to throw the projectile and the strength needed behind it to accomplish it.

"I'm a hero. Nothin's impossible.", Alfred grinned, his azure eyes sparkling brightly.

"Now…..getting back to brass tacks, you could shoot the Lobsterback or hell, you could even shoot me but I can guarantee you, whatever you choose, I promise you that these bullets, all four of them will find their merry lil way into Italy's skull. I doubt it will kill him, being a country and all that shit, but he won't be purdy for a while that's for damn sure.", Alfred's grin took on darker tones as he drew his arm back threateningly.

Coming to a quick decision, Ludwig backed away slowly, his weapon still trained on the Allies. He made his way carefully over to a still weeping Feliciano. He bent down to reach under the petite nation, throwing the Italian over his shoulder. Feliciano screamed in renewed pain, clutching at the German's broad back. Ludwig murmured apologies softly to him, still retreating until their forms were lost into the woods.

"What the hell was that!?", Arthur yelled after an extended German free moment.

"Don't thank me all at once or anything.", Alfred chuckled, shoving his hands back into his bomber's pockets.

"I don't need you to save me, git!", Arthur yelled, his face flushed bright red as he stomped past Alfred.

The America sighed, kicking an innocent piece of stone aside. "I love you too.", Alfred whispered, watching the Englishman's waning form

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOO  
Like setting suns at the rodeo  
Trying to find someone you'll never know  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOO

They found him in the dry wilderness of the desert West, wandering about aimlessly, the horse choosing the path they traveled in it seemed. The tall blonde rode a palomino, a rail thin figure stooped atop the golden steed with the pale mane against a fiery backdrop of gold, orange, and shades of red, the towers sun baked stone rising high overhead. The cowboy wore ragged clothing, sun faded and frayed covered with scarred leather chaps and coat, a wide brimmed cowboy hat set low over his haunted eyes. He still hadn't regained his full strength it seemed, wounds and riffs still too new and open between the states and its people. The situation was unified once again, yet still divided in many ways. The cowboy's hollow sky blue eyes stared blankly back at the government men, whom were all dressed in dark formal clothing as they approached him with an air of urgency. They had been looking for him for a while now and were running out of time. It was going to be down to the wire getting him back to D.C. in time. The leader signaled for the group to stop just short of the lone gunman.

"Alfred F. Jones!", the man called out warily, studying the cowboy before him. The man in charge was obviously very worried but was trying not to show it. His orders had been very clear though, stating that this man…no, that wasn't right…this being before him had to be on an out bounding train before it was too late. The clincher was that odds were if they were not able to convince him to do so, there wasn't a damn thing they could do about it. A ton of work, weeks of following leads, dead ends, and word of mouth to come back with nothing didn't sit well with the men in black.

The cowboy just blinked at the name spoken, looking slightly confused. No one had called him that in years. The fact that someone was using it now other than another nation did not bode well for him. He didn't answer, just stare back with cold eyes. The leader licked his lips nervously. "America.", he tried again even as he still tried to grasp the concept behind it, failing each time. He had settled with himself it must be a code word of some kind. The explanation he had been giver for this mission seemed a tall tale meant for youngins at bedtime. To his surprise though, the name evoked a response. The cowboy sighed tiredly, nodding back to tip his wide brimmed hat at them.

"Yeah….Whatcha want?", Alfred rasped hoarsely in a dry voice, rusty from lack of use.

"Well sir, your presence is requested in the capital. You have to come back with us.", the MIB told him. He was met with a hard look backed with world weary eyes, jaded and fathomless.

"I don't have to do jackshit for you asshole. What the hell for anyway?", Alfred spat back defiantly as he seriously considered leaving them all behind. He knew this land better that anyone of course. Losing them in the desert would be child's play for him.

"Your country….your president needs you.", the leader rallied, gesturing desperately as he dug out a much abused letter from his saddle's side satchel. The envelope carried the presidential seal upon it with Alfred name and title on its face. Alfred glared at them as he accepted it begrudgingly, tearing it open to scan the print, peering over Texas, his newly acquired land. It was a difficult section of earth, ornery and very free willed, so Alfred had made it a point to keep it directly in front of him to keep an eye(literally) on it. He had gotten the idea from his twin(though he would never admit it) who had had to do something similar with one of his own tracts of land.

"What's this all about?", Alfred finally asked, not picking up what he wanted right away from letter. His initial read through didn't make a bit of sense to him.

"Alfred F. Jones…..we need you to go to a dance."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOO  
After a blowup, a full tantrum, and many cross words later, Alfred found himself sulking on a train heading back to D.C.. The President was hosting an international ball in the hopes of proving that the United States of America was just that-united. It was to show that the country had recovered from its Civil War and could defend itself politically and even more importantly, defend itself on an internationally level. The President needed Alfred there because the other world leaders were bringing their own countries with them as well. If Alfred was not in attendance, it could be taken as a sign of weakness.

For his part though, Alfred didn't want to see anyone, not right now, not ever…..his twin and neighbor Matthew the only exception of course. That was what being an Isolationist was all about, wasn't it? It kept others the hell away from him and out of their problems and vice versa.

Now they were all coming here, on invite no less, when he was just starting to feel better. Alfred looked down at himself, running a hand lightly over his chest. The wounds were still there, barely healed, marking his tanned skin with multiple scars in vivid shades of garish reds and pinks. He had gotten into the habit of not looking down at himself as much as he could. His torso was warped with burns of the South and cuts from numerous battles. A long wraparound wound that looped from his lower back over his left shoulder to end at his right hipbone was a painful reminder of the Mason Dixon Line. Sprinkle a multitude of bullets wounds for numerous battles and you had yourself a epitaph drawn out in flesh. Out of all the scars though, Alfred really didn't mind the bullets wounds. He had gotten them saving former slaves and soldiers from both sides. For the first part of the war, he had been a major part of the underground railroad, helping to get it established. The latter half of the war, he had been a medic, working hand in hand with a very brave woman name Clara Barton, who had convinced him to join her on the battlefield not as a soldier but as savior. Being what he was, Alfred had been able to go to dire situations regardless of the danger. He viewed those wounds with some pride. The bullets that had hit him had spared some poor soul from suffering that fate. All the pain had been worth that thought.

Pain….

That is all that his life had been lately it seemed. The world won't let him escape it. Alfred tiredly pressed his forehead against the dirt filmed glass, watching his scenery whiz by. It wasn't bad enough he physically hurt. He was a mess mentally as well…

Abe still weighed heavily on his mind, his thoughts of his former president running in constant little loops ever since that fateful day.

He should have been there, should have stopped it…..should have…done something….

Abe had worked so hard, accomplished so much, had suffered almost as greatly as Alfred had in his own way. In the end though, he had been gunned down. Some hero he was.

In despair and engulfing depression, Alfred had left after the last official funeral, wandering where the wind took him, far out into the West. He lost himself to the range, the rippling oceans of prairies, and the sky that seemed to have no end, his horse Freedom his only companion.

But now…he was back here, at his heart Washington D.C., his head painfully buzzing from the presence of so many foreign countries on his soil. Alfred curled up in his seat, suddenly nervous. He had to go see all these nations…these strangers. Alfred didn't know any of them…..didn't want to know any of them…(Seriously, what the hell was a Liechtensteen…..Licktenstien….Liechtenstein anyway? Was that even a country?)

…Wait….that wasn't entirely true though…..He knew a few.

Alfred found himself wondering if 'he' would even show up. It had been a while after all…

As a wave of nostalgia hit him filled with visions of choppy pale blonde hair and eyes the shade of vivid clover, Alfred found himself wondering what the universe really had against him. It wasn't bad enough that his head and body hurt. Apparently his heart had to hurt as well.

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The ball was held at the White House, the old white mansion decorated with banners and rosettes in its national colors of red, white, and blue. The party spilled out into the rose garden there, the blooms scenting the event beautifully. Arthur looked down his nose at it all though. He considered this soiree quaint at best, not even really comparable to any social event held back in his own lands or Europe.

The British Empire was surrounded by all his colonies and acquisitions for this event. India was being his escort this evening, the dark exotic beauty at his side, dressed exquisitely in a colorful sari of silk and sparkling jewels. He ruled the world now and had only bothered to show up to be a gentleman and at the request of his queen who had sent him here in her place. She rarely went to social events any more now. The death of her beloved Prince Albert had been a terrible blow. Arthur could and would never decline a request from his royalty as much as he may dislike it. Otherwise he would not have bothered with this nonsense. Arthur was far too busy and important. He was an empire now. It wasn't because he wanted to see him…..

….No…not at all…..

It didn't stop Arthur from checking over his richly dark suit for the hundredth time that night, adjusting his flawless bowtie and sash with its numerous medals and ornaments.

To his ire, Alfred showed up late of course. Arthur couldn't help but stare(like everyone else). Alfred looked…for lack of a better word…simply awful.

Arthur had never seen the other nation so thin even during the worst part of the Revolutionary War, the dark plain suit he wore, hanging off of his lanky frame. He wore dark gloves despite the current fashion of white, giving the impression he was more of an undertaker than a co-host of this little affair. Arthur also noticed that Alfred carried himself stiffly, with a slight limp, the tall nation favoring his left leg for some reason. The America still smiled brightly though, his teeth an unearthly shade of pearly white, as he greeted each and every nation congenially.

Arthur had raised him and despite their long separation and quarrels could still see the finer details missed by others. Alfred's expression was a bit tired and strained around the edges as he fumbled good naturedly at names. It was like watching a talented actor moved across a stage wearing nothing but a brittle mask made of polite charm. It intrigued Arthur despite himself. A part of him wanted to see how easy it would be to shatter the farce while another part begged for him to let it be. In what seemed like an eternity, Alfred finally made his rounds to the group, coming to stand before Arthur and all his followers.

"Welcome Ar….England.", Alfred stammered, cursing at himself for messing up such a simple greeting as he made his face hold onto a cheerful expression.

Arthur glared back coldly, smirking a bit. "It's the British Empire now.", he corrected snidely, studying the American's appearance. It was even worse up close, the suit obviously out of style and old.

"Oh…..sorry…..well….enjoy the party.", Alfred nodded back after a moment, moving off quickly, trying not to hunch his shoulders. He could feel Arthur's glare on his back, but resisted the urge to confront it. As much as he would have loved the distraction, his boss had put him on strict orders to be on his best behavior. Getting into a screaming argument with England…no, excuse the hell out of him…the British Empire was definitely not 'best behavior'.

Matthew stared in mild horror at his twin as he greeted by an overly enthusiastic Francis, who had been one of the first to arrive and start drinking heavily. Alfred looked seriously messed up and underdressed. The worst part was the suit. Matthew recognized it. It was the same one Alfred had worn when he had accompanied his dead president's body by train across the states. He knew it by its frayed left cuff. Alfred had worried at it constantly to the point of noticeability. Matthew couldn't understand it. He knew Alfred's Civil War had been bad but he still looked so rough. Matthew needed to find out what wrong, using his natural invisibility to peel off from the group despite England's order not to.

Alfred had gotten done with his host duties of greeting and small talk to lean up against the wall in a far off corner of the main room. It had taken longer that he had expected. No one bothered with him now though. They were all too busy gossiping amongst themselves. He winced slightly at the more colorful tidbits that floated within earshot occasionally.

"Al."

Alfred jumped slightly at the soft whisper of his twin, looking at Matthew in surprise at his sudden presence. He relaxed visibly upon recognizing his brother.

"Mattie.", Alfred whispered happily, drawing the other into a tight hug. Matthew drew back far enough out of it to lean their foreheads together to meet amethyst with azure.

"Oh Al…what are you doing, eh? What is with this all aboot?", Matthew said in the wispy tones as his finger plucked at the tired material of the offending garment. Alfred closed his eyes tiredly in response, leaning his weight against his brother as he enjoyed the sensations of the their borders touching naturally. It was soothing on a deep unexplainable level that Matthew felt as well. The Canadian let the issue drop in light of feeling oddly complete.

"I was out in the desert. They brought me back with just hours to spare. It was the only thing that I had on such short notice.", Alfred answered, breathing in the northern nation's scent like it was fresh maple scented air.

Matthew shushed him in response. "It's alright. I'm here for you.", Matthew whispered, stroking his back soothingly. His fingers felt the ridges and crests of scars easily beneath the cheap material. He was glad Alfred's face was buried into his neck. Matthew was sure his expression would have bothered his twin who hated to see distress on other people. Matthew would have stood there holdimg Alfred forever if need be, but a dry cough from behind reminded the pair that they were not alone. They turned bodily to see Arthur glaring haughtily at them both, his hands placed squarely on his hips.

Arthur looked around for Alfred, still having to deliver his queen's greetings and regards. He cursed himself for not doing it earlier when the opportunity had presented itself. With that mission done, he could have politely excused himself citing affairs of state and already been back on a ship to England. After doing several rounds of the room, he finally managed to find Alfred in the arms of his brother, looking strangely vulnerable.

Arthur was suddenly struck with a wave of nostalgia with visions of his sweet little America crying in fear seeking out his protection and love. The mood was tempered by something else though. Arthur pushed it all aside angrily. Damn Alfred for making him feel, for making him experience these moments of love so beautifully sharp. It didn't matter now though. Arthur was powerful. He didn't need Alfred…

…but it didn't stop him from wanting him.

Arthur watched Matthew move his hand up higher on his twin's back to start stroking it slowly, obviously comforting him. Arthur finally recognized the emotion that had been in the earlier wave, burning with the jealous rage that filled his being now. Arthur clenched his fists, pushed hot air through his nose. He had to keep himself together, and not make a scene. He was a gentleman now, damn it.

Arthur approached the pair unnoticed, clearing his throat to see the brothers jump, turning as one to view him-Matthew looking a bit guilty but oddly defiant while Alfred just looked back with a tired hurt expression on his face.

"What the hell do you think you are doing? I specifically told you to stay away from him.", Arthur snapped at Matthew, who only cringed mildly despite the razor sharp tone.

"I'm sorry Britannia.", Matthew murmured, finally releasing his twin to draw back.

"It's not his fault! I had to tell him something.", Alfred said suddenly, his fake carefree smile back in place as he stepped in front of the Canadian and into the line of fire.

"Always the bloody hero.", Arthur rolled his eyes, sneering, "If you can not be bothered to dress appropriately or address your guest properly at political social function, then do not bother to come to them. It is only an insult to your guests and an embarrassment upon your own person."

Alfred froze, looking down as sad smile graced his lips, his inner debate visibly to his two guest. He looked up after a moment, looking oddly composed. "I'm sorry. Permit me to remove myself before your delicate sensibilities are offended further Great Britain, Britannia, or whatever the hell you are calling yourself these days. It was nice to see you again.", Alfred said in even tones with touch of sadness to them as he turned to leave.

Arthur blinked in surprised at the lack of fight and the mild insults, watching the other retreat, still limping slightly as he exited the room, ignoring looks from his somber boss. Arthur turned back to see a very rare, almost mystical sight of a fuming Canada.

"Poorly spoken and even more so, poorly executed, your Grace!", Matthew spat to Arthur's shock. Matthew was the most mellow nations he knew, seemingly incapable of negative emotions. He had never back talked him before much less lectured him, as the Canadian launched into a rant of epic proportions.

"Some gentleman you are, hoser! Al just made it back to the capital a couple of hours ago and didn't have time to get a new suit! No one bothered on this end to think of it either! He still came though, underdressed, ill prepared, and still managed to show more class that you did.", Matthew rambled, pushing past Arthur to find his brother, leaving Arthur speechless in his wake. He turned back around to see the room staring at him, dissolving into smirks, whispers, and chuckles after a moment. Arthur's face burned as he too remembered finally they had not been alone, watching a wide smirk grow on Francis's face as the amorous nation drunkenly swaggered over to him. Arthur groaned, really wishing he had held his sharp tongue long enough to deliver his royal message as the Frenchman started to noisily mock him.

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Stupid, stupid, stupid…How could he have been so stupid! Alfred started to tear off his clothes as soon as he had kicked in his front door. He threw the remnants of the hateful suit into the fireplace to alight the material on fire with the help of some lamp oil. As he watched the material smoke and burn, Alfred reflected he had meant what he had said. It had been good to see Arthur again if only briefly. A part of him had forgotten how beautiful the Englishman actually was, even if he did act like a horse's ass.

Alfred wanted to burn it all down, not just the suit. The house, the capital….anything to distract him from this odd gnawing feeling he had thinking about Arthur. Maybe he could piss Matthew off enough to do it for him…..again…Hmmm….

"Al…why are you naked?"

"Speak of the devil….", Alfred chuckled, shaking his head clear of destructive thoughts. Heroes didn't burn down their capitals or make other people do it for them.

"You are making less sense than usual. Could you get dressed please? It is kind of awkward to talk to you this way.", Matthew sighed, staring up at the ceiling as he tried not to stare at Alfred's marred skin. The American noticed the polite gesture as he looked over his shoulder to watch his brother shuffle his weight from foot to foot.

"Aren't you forbidden to talk to the black sheep? Wouldn't want you getting all revolutionary or anything like that.", Alfred snorted turning his attention back to the fire.

Matthew sighed, rolling his eyes as he looked around for some clothes. He found some stray pieces of random clothing, bringing them to the American despite their filthy condition.

"What the hell Al? Have you been living in these?", Matthew complained as he set them down beside the other who pulled them on automatically, obviously deep in thought.

Alfred jumped up suddenly, his face bright and clear for the first time in a long while it seemed. Matthew viewed the sudden mood swing with surprise, squeaking when Alfred picked him up in a whirling hug before dropping him to run out the ruined front door.

"Al! Where the hell are you going?", Matthew called out, leaning in the ragged doorway. Alfred paused long enough to place his cowboy hat back on his head, adjusting it to a cocky angle.

"Going out West again, but this time, I'm coming back a hero!", Alfred grinned, striking an odd pose to point up toward the sky. Matthew had no idea what the hell his twin was talking about, but nodded back anyway with a soft smile.

"Oh and Mattie…."

"Yeah Al?"

"Fix my door, will ya. I gotta train to catch."

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Arthur finally delivered his message to the President himself, when it was apparent that Alfred would not be returning. The American's boss was a somber man and a former general of the North, so Ulysses S. Grant was very familiar with his absent country. Being the honorable West Point graduate he was, the former general apologize for his nation's absence the best he could.

"Jones had been a might bit skittish since Lincoln. No one has seen hide or hair of him since then until now and that little miracle took three months to find him. Hell, the boy probably hasn't even been in a suit since the funeral.", Ulysses mumbled almost absently, more to himself than actually to Arthur. He had been bothered by Alfred's appearance as well. It had deeply shaken him in many ways. He had hoped the nation was more healed than that. If the personification was a true reflection of a nation itself, they were in a poor state right now. He studied Arthur with tired eyes, waves of almost tangible power rolling off of the powerful empire.

Arthur was not paying any attention to him though, lost in his own thoughts as something inside of him bottomed out painfully, realizations coming fully into the light. It explained everything, the worn clothing, the somber cut, the old fashion. Matthew had been terribly right. Alfred hadn't been intentionally behind in the fashion or meant to offend. He had worn the only suit he had at the time at a moment's notice. The President interrupted the Englishman's musings with a tired noise.

"Don't get me wrong. He is a good boy and strong….he is just wild…..wild America….going back were he should be by now I suppose. I thought this would help him but…..", Ulysses trailed off a touch morosely.

In the moment of following silence, Arthur was caught once again between warring emotions. He had snubbed Alfred for really no good reason at all especially when the lad had been trying to be friendly for once….He was an empire and Alfred was beneath him…he hadn't bothered to remember about Alfred's recent civil war. It took decades to heal from those.…Alfred was weak and the weak were meant to be crushed…..sky blue eyes filled with so much pain it tore Arthur down to his core…

A cleared throat made Arthur look up startled into kind but grave eyes of a man, a leader who had seen too much in a human's comparable short lifespan. All he wanted was some kind of an answer from him, some small helpful gesture.

"He will come around.", was all he could really offer.

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All the days are forgetting  
They've gone out with the tide  
Lost at sea somewhere, waiting  
Like setting suns at the rodeo  
Trying to find someone you'll never know

AN-Time to learn something damn it!  
Bullet throwing come about from hanging out with comics book geeks(I myself being one of them), and was the results of hundreds of past conversation of 'what I would do with this superpower'

Lobsterback is what the colonist called the British solidiers during the Revolutionary War.

Purdy is Southern for pretty. I decided to give Al a more notiveable accent during his little standoff.

Civil War story  
I set the dance about 10 years after the end of the civil war.

All history provided by Wikipedia-I do not own it in any way, shape, or form.

Clarissa Harlowe "Clara" Barton (December 25, 1821 – April 12, 1912) was a pioneer American teacher, nurse, and humanitarian. She is best remembered for organizing the American Red Cross. On April 21, 1861, nine days after the start of the Civil War, Barton tended to wounded Massachusetts soldiers quartered in the U.S. Senate chamber in Washington. Then after the First Battle of Bull Run, July 21, Barton established the main agency to obtain and distribute supplies to wounded soldiers. She was given a pass by General William Hammond to ride in army ambulances to provide comfort to the soldiers and nurse them back to health and lobbied the U.S. Army bureaucracy, at first without success, to bring her own medical supplies to the battlefields. Finally, on August 3, 1862, she obtained permission to travel to the front lines, eventually reaching some of the grimmest battlefields of the war and serving during the Siege of Petersburg and Richmond, Virginia. In 1864 she was appointed by Union General Benjamin Butler as the "lady in charge" of the hospitals at the front of the Army of the James.

The term "Isolationism" began to be used around the time of the United States' independence. Thomas Paine first engrained the concept into many of the new country's leaders through Common Sense. In his pamphlet he pleaded the case of independence from foreign policy and commercial supremacy. George Washington later supported the notion in his Farewell Address by warning the country against any permanent alliances that would force the country into a war that they need not be in. This policy was then supported Washington's successors and was again made clear in the Monroe Doctrine, which states "In the wars of the European powers in matters relating to themselves we have never taken part, nor does it comport with our policy to do so." The U.S. continued to fight in wars with various countries while implementing this policy. The United States only chose to fight different countries so that they could maintain or expand their borders, but again with the concept that it would be best to expand them in order to later maintain them. This is referring to various wars and skirmishes with Mexico, Spain, and Britain which later spread the United States' borders to the Pacific, and gained Florida as well. Through this hundred year time period, there was only one treaty with a foreign nation that broke the Isolationist policy of the United States. It was only when World War I broke out that the United States found itself breaking with traditional Isolationist policy entirely and helping various countries in Europe fight back the Germans. There was struggle between political parties on whether or not the U.S. should abandon its long standing Isolationist policy. Once the Axis powers began to rise once again in Europe, that policy reached its breaking point with various acts passed by Congress at the demand of Franklin Roosevelt as well as his various executive decisions. Aid was soon pouring in from the U.S. on both fronts of the war and the U.S. quickly established various treaties and alliances. The final straw for Isolationism occurred when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor, any and all resistance that was seen by pro-isolationist vanished and the U.S. was ushered into World War II and a new age in foreign policy.

Ulysses S. Grant (born Hiram Ulysses Grant; April 27, 1822 – July 23, 1885) was the 18th President of the United States (1869–1877) as well as military commander during the Civil War and post-war Reconstruction periods. Under Grant's command, the Union Army defeated the Confederate military and ended the Confederate States of America.

After his death, Lincoln lay in state at the Capitol, in the East Room and then in the Rotunda, before the funeral train bore him to his final resting place in Springfield.

Finally, even though I threw some history in there, this story is not meant to be historically accurate.


	3. Chapter 3

"You're so morose."

Arthur looked down at the tall blonde who was currently using his lap as a pillow to see that the America was staring up at him.

"Do not use words you do not the meaning up.", Arthur mocked lightly, carding honey strands through his fingers to linger on the shell of an ear. He traced its outer limits with a light nail.

"Asshole.", Alfred grunted, leaning into the touch.

"That's better. A most eloquent response uttered on your part as per usual. I applaud your wit that will simply define the coming ages.", Arthur commented dryly, his hand lingering on the curve of a squareish jaw line, trailing down it. His hand was caught again only this time by lips. The America used one of his hands to keep the appendage from retreating but assaulted it with tender kisses on the meat of the palm, leading upward to further claim the pulse point on the wrist. Arthur shifted, leaning back in his chair under the tingly sensation he was enjoying, closing his eyes with a small sigh.

"You're so cold. I love it.", Alfred said softly, grinning into the pale skin he was claiming as he nipped light at the wrist.

"Masochist.", Arthur chided, drawing his hand away or least tried to. He found it was attached to the American who leaned upward further against the English nation's slender chest, giving Arthur a trapped feeling as his flesh was pushed further back into the chair. He glared at his would-be captor, bracing him away by placing his hands on broad shoulders.

" Of course. I'm dating you aren't I?", Alfred smirked, using his superior weight to press forward further despite the resistance, claiming scowling lips in a biting kiss. Arthur hissed back at him, bringing up a knee threateningly upon vital regions. Alfred broke off the kiss enough to give the Englishman a worried look.

"Well played, git. Now fuck off.", Arthur smirked, as the Alfred drew back pouting. The American reclaimed his former territory of lap, pulling lightly at the material at it in discontent.

"I would rather fuck you.", Alfred whined, the very picture of dejection, his bottom lip thrust slightly out.

"Yes, because nothing says come hither than the petulant child look. I am not Holland, pet. At least try to make yourself vaguely useful and make me a cup of tea." Arthur yawned, feigning boredom despite his interest. Pounding Alfred into the mattress did seem a lovely way to spend the rest of the evening, but he would rather chew glass than let Alfred actually know that. He would never get anything done if he tried to keep up with the American's sex drive all the time. He wasn't sure how Alfred got anything done with it himself.

Alfred groaned, but got up anyway to start the trudge toward the kitchen, casting dark looks at the drinker of Earl Grey, who appeared to be back with his own deep thoughts.

"And Alfred….."

"Yeah, what?", Alfred asked huffily, pausing at the doorway. He looked back to be met with a smoldering gaze of emerald fire that made his knees feel weak and lower, more intimate regions grow very tight.

"Your future plans for this evening depends on how well you make that tea.", Arthur whispered huskily, running a slick tongue slowly over sculpted lips.

Alfred dry swallowed visibly, all moisture suddenly retreating from his mouth. He nodded back, before ducking out the door to practically run to the kitchen. Arthur winced for his stairs, hoping that the wood was not permanently damaged as the American tore a path through his house. He really only had himself to blame this time for that one. He could practically envision Alfred bouncing from foot to foot waiting for the water to boil instead of using the electric kettle.

Arthur snickered to himself, reflecting how Alfred had always been like that really…so strangely reckless…

Thoughts drifted back into memory, of a time long ago and far away.

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Arthur settles into his seat next to his queen, waiting for the show to begin. He really wasn't expecting much from it, the traveling troupe all the way from America. London, England was their last European performance, solely for the queen and members of the nobility viewing pleasure before departing back across the pond.

"Good riddance to bad rubbish.", Arthur grumbled to himself, massaging his temples gingerly. Another country was in his lands. The tosser had yet to present himself though to him…..not that he was worried about it or anything. He was the British Empire now and ruled the civilized world with an iron fist wrapped in a silk glove, the Invincible Iron Gentleman. Arthur assumed it was just Francis again anyway, playing silly buggers just to annoy the hell out of him. As much as he wanted to root the wine bastard out and drop kick his hairy butt back across the channel, his night was sorely set.

Arthur would never have chosen to come to this farce of entertainment, but the nobility had a real bee in their bonnet about it, so here he was as the Queen's escort. Ever since the tragic death of Prince Albert, Arthur had become Queen Victoria's official accompaniment to social functions, something he loathed but did willingly as a duty to his crown. It uncomfortable reminded him at times of another great queen of his though. At least this one had not taken it into her head to marry him. Not that another 40 years at sea would bother him, but Arthur was fairly certain Antonio would be able to survive it.

Visions of a miserable Spaniard put a slight smile on the English nation's face as the Ring Master presented his performers with all the usual posturing, with one small twist. Instead of suit and tie with top hat, the bearded smiling man wore at odd outfit of Western apparel complete with a pair of guns and a wide white cowboy hat. He rode atop a white stallion, having the powerful animal rear up magnificently center stage. With a startling call and the ring of gunfire, the show began.

Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show started off with a bang….literally. The various performers rolled, tumbled, and rode out in full costume. The parade, mostly on horseback, had U.S Military in full regalia riding beside American Indians in leather, feathers, and war paint. They were joined by Turks and Arabs in flowing robes and turbans who were on their own little light horses that jumped high and light among the stouter steeds. Fierce looking Mongols rode fast about, showing off archery skills as other riders threw various targets up in the air at random to be shot midair. Not to be outdone, various sharpshooters joined in as the riders spiraled around the ring in a wild dance.

Arthur sighed. How typically American. Too noisy, too abrupt, too flashy, utterly lacking in substance and hopelessly garish….he really should not have expected anything less as he watched strongmen flex, fire dancers spin, and the freaks present their grotesque features for all to wonder and gasp. "Oh please, you could see that anywhere on the street back in the day.", Arthur grumbled as the last of them filed out.

As the show progressed though he found himself mildly impressed by the sharp shooters, something that actually needed patience, accuracy, and skill to accomplish. They were all attributes that Arthur greatly appreciated, a notable marksman himself. Annie Oakley in particular was a real treat to watch, the young woman even out shooting her own husband. Queen Victoria herself was most impressed with her, calling a pause in the show to compliment Oakley.

"You are a very, very clever little girl.", the Queen stated magnanimously, surprising even Arthur. Her Highness was not know for paying such high compliments.

After the sharpshooters let the stage, the lighting dimmed dramatically to focus directly on center stage as the next act was announced. A hush fell on the audience as a lone rider rode out of the darkness slowly to enter the circle of light atop a gleaming jet black steed. The rider was named the Masked Hero evidently so for the dark bandanna that covered his lower visage and the mask over the rest of it, his wide brimmed leather hat set low, hiding his eyes in shadow. The costume which should have been understated was made more apparent by the contrast of materials in it. The matte of the inky cotton shirt and jean were highlighted by the glossy sheen of the rider's leather chaps dyed expertly to shade of midnight. Bright bits of metal glittered off of his spurs, belt, and gun, twinkling like little stars against their odd sky.

The shadow man was tall, riding high in the saddle, muscular but wiry, smoothly steady as the horse halted in the middle for a breathe, a moment of silence prevailing. The cowboy smoothly unfurled a length sun bleached hemp rope with dramatic flair. A note was struck by the orchestra and held as the rider began to dance.

Horse, rope, and man were involved with each other seamlessly in a series of twists, twirls, the clatter of hooves, the jingle of spurs, and the whisper of braided hemp. The rope circled and serpentine as if it had a will of its own as the rider rolled in the saddle around, above, and below it, the horse rearing and falling in jumps and springs in time with the two above it. The dark cowboy did flips, handsprings, jump kicks, and all manner of tricks all the while expertly controlling animal and inanimate object.

Arthur found himself drawn to him, his eyes following the intricate waltz that flowed and arched in its cage made solely of light and shadow, the trio always in motion.

It ended too soon for Arthur's liking, the rider performing a final twisted flip as the rope coiled neatly back in his hand, the man landing perfectly into the saddle. The lights came back on so the performer could take his bow, standing up in the saddle in effortless balance as the stallion ran a full circle around the ring to loud applause. The man happened to look up as he passed by the queen and country, freezing mid bow when he realized what he had done. The world fell away from Arthur as everything in the room stopped, emerald meeting azure.

Sky blue eyes-endless, sweeping in their color and depth as a cloudless summer morning-only one being had such eyes.

"America."

Arthur was not sure if he thought or actually spoke the name but it broke the spell as reality flooded back to him in full force. He popped up out of his seat to white knuckle the balcony in a crushing grip, debating with himself whether the viewing box was too high to clear in a single jump as he watched the rider…America…make a hasty exit off of the stage. Arthur remained standing, moving to leave.

"Is there something that troubles you, Lord Kirkland?", Queen Victoria asked curiously, regarding her nation.

Arthur cursed mentally, managing to keep a polite face devoid of any real emotion as he turned toward her. "Nothing at all your Grace. I just had to stretch my legs is all. Pardon the disruption.", he said smoothly, regretfully taking his seat.

"How did you find the last performance, Lord Kirkland.", Queen Victoria inquired, arching a thin brow at her nation. He was looking unsettled for some reason.

"Very entertaining, your Grace. The rider was most skilled.", Arthur faked a smile from behind a mask of engrained politeness.

"Indeed. I wonder what he will be like in person.", Queen Victoria mused, as the next act started, as lively reenactment of a stagecoach robbery. Arthur blinked in surprise, suddenly remembering of the existence of the after party. All the performers would be there so that the nobility could meet with them. He would get his chance then. Arthur relaxed back into his seat, his mind ablaze with questions as he watched the rest of the show sightlessly.

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"Blast! Where is that git!?"

Arthur cursed softly, scanning the crowd of performers and party guests again. Alfred was obviously not among them. Excusing himself as quickly and politely as he could from the queen's side, Arthur rechecked the crowd, confirming his earlier observations. Storming over to the ring leader and consequently owner of the show, Arthur confronted Buffalo Bill himself, who was stunned to be presence of a man with the angriest eyebrows he had ever seen backed by an acid glare.

"The Masked Hero? Where is he?!", Arthur spat out through clenched teeth, foregoing any overtures of politeness. In the face of the unspoken threat of extreme violence, to his credit Buffalo Bill managed out a parched chuckle, looking around him quickly.

"Never mind him! Come meet the star of the star!", Buffalo Bill professionally grinned, grabbing the person nearest to him who happened to be Annie Oakley. Arthur refrained from throwing a fit in the presence of the lady, managing a tight smile and stiff bow to her.

"Charmed I assure you, but it is vitally important that I speak with him.", Arthur pressed, his tone low and dangerous.

"Well sir…..that's goin to be a problem then.", Buffalo Bill sighed as Annie gave him a worried look.

"Pray tell good man, Why?", Arthur seethed, impatience eating at the last of his restraints.

"Cause the kid is already on the boat with the horses goin back to the states.", Buffalo Bill admitted, to see the Englishman's face flush between shades of pale whites and vivid reds in rage.

"WHAT!?", Arthur exploded, drawing many stares in their general direction.  
Buffalo Bill cringed in the face of such pure outrage, taking off his hat to worry the rim of it between callused hands.

"His contract was up after this show and hell, he insisted on it. Nothin I could do really…", Buffalo Bill started to explain quickly to be cut abruptly off.

"Which boat?!", Arthur snapped, tapping his foot impatiently as the other stared at him.

"Huh?! The 'Adventure', but you'll never make it!", Buffalo Bill frowned, gesturing helplessly under another baleful look.

"Sir, I do not have to 'make it'. I am 'it'.", Arthur intoned, snapping his fingers at the wait staff as he scribbled off various messages to the Navy be delivered posthaste.

"What in tarnation is goin on?", Buffalo Bill asked finally, after a flurry of footmen left.

"That is what I would like to find out.", Arthur said coldly, taking his leave of the festivities immediately.

Knowing the city of London more intimately that any other living being had its advantages as Arthur got to the harbor quickly by means of tunnels, secret passages, and alleys that were not on any map. He paced on the docks, waiting impatiently for the ship to be returned to port. To his ultimate dismay though, Alfred was not onboard and none of the crew had seen him or knew his whereabouts. Arthur could feel that he was off of his land now, so he could be anywhere. The port of London was always busy with ships leaving at all times, in all directions. The American could literally be anywhere now. Arthur stared out at the night ocean and wondered what that, the show, the performance, had been all about. Another part of him wondered if it would ever happen again.

Off the deck of a schooner, a tall blonde man dressed immaculately in a white suit leaned against the railing, peering through a telescope to watch Arthur pace on the dock casting long looks at the sea. Alfred was struck by the role reversal for a moment, a large part of his own childhood spent on docks waiting for the other promised one to return. Alfred sighed, smiling a bit sadly at the obviously impatient figure who was in for a nasty surprise. "Sorry Arthur, but it was nice to see you again." Alfred whispered, his words lost in the wind.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOO  
Oh, sinking love  
On the cloud of unknowing  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOO

"That selfish, stupid, idiotic little tosser, wanker…..GIT!", Arthur ranted angrily much to the amusement of a French nation and to the distress of a Canadian nation in his presence as the trio walked…..well Francis actually strolled, Matthew tagged along, but Arthur fairly marched, bordering on storming over, to the American's camp.

"We are here to the see the git!", Arthur snapped angrily at the guardsmen who looked back at him with a definite air of boredom.

"Huh? Whatcha tawkin about ya mook? Whawt the hell is a 'git'? Ay Vinnie, youst ever heard of a 'git'?", the guard, obviously from New York, his accent and misuse of the English language setting Arthur's teeth on edge.

"Fuck if I know Mario. Must be some British thing, like pinkies up in the air and shit.", said Vinnie, shrugging as he lit his cigarette.

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose, wincing at the streaks of pain that threatened to fully arch across his brow. "America. We are looking for America, you daft ponces.", Arthur growled, to watch in dismay as the soldier continued to looked miffed, Mario scratching his chin in deep thought. Arthur for his part looked like he was about to rage again.

"You are wasting my time! Do you have any idea who I am?!", Arthur snarled to be gently held back. He turned to see it was Matthew who smiled pleasantly at the guards.

"We are here to see Al, guys.", Matthew said quietly, showing them his Canadian colors.

"Oh Jonesy! Why the hell didn't ya just say so?" Mario laughed, signaling for a replacement as Vinnie waved them through. Mario and Vinnie shouldered their guns as they escorted the nations through the make shift base, a new city of tents, vehicles, and crates of equipment surrounding with the smell of mud, gunpowder, and oil. It was like any other camp really. Men played card, smoked, trained, and talked shit, all while waiting for orders that would probably send a lot of them to their death. Arthur was appalled to find them so damn cheerful about it. Everyone looked like they were here for a party not a war, the soldiers smiling and laughing.

"Why shouldn't they? They don't have to live here when it is all said and done.", Arthur thought bitterly as the nations and guards came to a clearing full of vehicles in process of being repaired. Vinnie and Mario joined a group of the mechanics working on said vehicles, though most of them were involved in an intense game of poker with some pilots apparently playing for cigarettes and chocolate.

"What are ya shmucks doin heer?" one of the mechanics asked, a particularly large man covered in filthy oil soaked overalls.

"Fuckin babysittin. What's it look like?", Vinnie yawned, gesturing toward the nations. Arthur bit back a response, glaring at the men instead.

"What's with 'em?", the mechanic asked, thumbing at them as he called a halt to the game. Angry eyes turned to focus on the nations, waiting impatiently for them to finish their business and leave.

"They're here ta see Jonesy.", Mario helpfully supplied, wandering over to see who had been winning. The mechanic eyed the group curiously, the nations all in their different distinct uniforms and looking very important next to their present company.

"Jonesy! Jones! Move ya ass. Youts got company.", the mechanic yelled over his shoulder at a pair of long legs under a partly disabled Jeep. The legs stirred as the Jeep was bodily lifted off of the man working under it with one arm alone. He sat up, still bracing the car easily to view his said company, a wrench still in his other hand. Alfred blinked in surprise at them, as the other countries stared back in shock at the oil and dirt covered America.

"Tell 'em I'm not heer.", Alfred grinned, flopping back down to cover himself up again with the Jeep.

"Jonesy ain't heer", the mechanic concluded straight-faced returning to his game of cards without another look at the nations.

"Awww. Too bad. Youts just missed 'em.", Mario snickered, whose mirth was echoed by several others. Francis sighed elegantly while Matthew face palmed at his brother's stupidity. Arthur was having none of it though.

"You! We have to talk to you!", Arthur exploded, striding forward or he would have if not for the guns suddenly pointed in his general direction. Several hammers clicked back as the circle of firearms grew, the mechanics and pilots pulling out their own pieces. The previously carefree group were now soberly grim, stoic in murderous intent. Arthur had let himself forget that behind that jovial façade, the American's meant business.

"We said Jonesy ain't heer, so fuck off.", Vinnie growled, his dark eyes cold and hard now, a far cry from the man who not just two seconds ago was joking and trying to butt in on a game of cards.

"Can any of you fathom just how big of a mistake you are making right now?", Arthur said coolly, staring down the guns unflinching.

"Like we give a flyin fuck, ya mook. If I was youts…." Mario started to be cut off by the complaints of a now fixed Jeep being shoved aside.

"It's alright. Stand down boys. Christ, I just wanted to finish that fuel line.", Alfred sighed, picking himself up off of the ground to fondly pat the Jeep's hood. He straightened out to a series of pops, eyeing the other nations warily. Arthur brushed aside the lowered but still drawn weapons to stand in front of the other, glaring up at his former colony.

"We have to talk to you! Why are you being so damn difficult?!", Arthur snapped in way of greeting, skipping all the formalities in his anger.

"Well…..I don't have to talk to you…..at all…So I can be as damn difficult as I want.", Alfred stated back defiantly, puffing up his broad chest. Francis rolled his eyes, swearing softly in French. Matthew winced a little at the content. Arthur was currently turning various shades of red.

"Are you completely round the bend?! Of course you do! We are allies!", Arthur roared, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

"No I'm not."

All the allied nations stared back at the American blankly. "Come again?", Arthur managed out after a moment.

"I'm my own thing, so no, I don't have to talk to any of you.", Alfred smirked, shoving his hands into his pockets to rock back and forth on his heels.

Arthur could feel his hands start to tremble with rage as his face caught on fire, and his vision got blurry with barely contained volatile emotions. He stammered back incoherently, simply at a loss of words. Matthew cut in though smoothly, stepping in front of the floundering empire to glare at his twin. Alfred had the decency to look marginally guilty, rubbing his oil soaked hands absently on his pant's legs.

"I'll talk to one of you back at my tent. Chose but chose wisely.", Alfred intoned roughly under his brother's returned look. The American stalked off, grumbling under his breath.

Matthew sighed heavily at his exit. "I'll go talk to him.", he muttered tiredly. Francis nodded his head in agreement, not wanting to bother with this whole mess in the first place. The Canadian was stopped by an iron grip on his arm though, slender fingers digging in hard enough to bruise flesh.

"I am going.", Arthur growled, stomping forward as he threw a seething glare at the soldiers. He went in the same direction as Alfred coming to a small side clearing where a large tent was slightly set apart from the rest, a of flag of stars and stripes as its entrance, the only real difference from the rest really.

Alfred was outside of it, washing his face roughly from a water bucket to dump the remainder of it over his head, his torso stripped of all material to reveal vast expanses of muscular tanned skin, the water droplets clinging precariously to it, like diamonds on a field of golden brown.

Despite his rage, Arthur was rendered speechless as well as motionless, idly noticing small details. Alfred had changed his pants at some point to regulation uniform khakis, Texas was looped in with the dog tags gleaming brightly, and Nantucket, despite being thoroughly drenched, refused to droop an inch. Arthur's eyes lingered on lines of fine old scars. Alfred's torso was a roadmap of them from his civil war and other skirmishes. It didn't distract from the solid beauty of his form though, instead lending an unbidden grace to it, as muscles coiled and flexed fluidly. Alfred shook his soaked head like a dog, sending droplets flying wildly as he stretched his toned arms high, rolling his broad shoulders to work out all the hidden kinks in them.

Arthur barely managed to remember to close his mouth in time when Alfred looked over in obvious surprise at him. He blinked rapidly at the shorter blonde, grunting something unintelligible.

"What was that?", Arthur rallied, making himself glare at him.

"I thought you would've sent Mattie is all. I know you don't like talking to me.", Alfred shrugged, pulling on an olive colored tank top. He turned away to pick up his hanging officer's jacket, shaking it out.

"When have I ever said that!", Arthur snapped feeling a little disappointed yet grateful the American had chosen to get dressed. Arthur wasn't sure if he could have managed a coherent conversation with him otherwise.

"I dunno. Silly idea on my part I guess. White House burned down in 1812, snubbed at every social event since then, and pretty much no communication for like a hundred years. Can't think of thing.", Alfred said casually, shrugging into his uniform. Arthur fumed back at him quietly. It was true though. He really couldn't refute it. All their last memories together had been of conflict…wait….that was not entirely correct…..

"It takes two to talk.", Arthur finally stated, trying to keep a civil tone with the other. Alfred paused at the statement, seeming to weigh it in his mind.

"That's true, but you're not the easiest person to talk to if you don't wanna be.", Alfred countered, taking a seat on some nearby crates of ammunition. He gestured to the stack, motioning for Arthur to join him.

"Pot, kettle.", Arthur shot back as he took a seat across from the other. Alfred rolled his eyes in response, but let the English nation get settled in peace.

"So talk already. I'm busy.", Alfred stated shortly, leaned back to regard Arthur. Arthur shot his a nasty glare back.

"As if I am not! It is you who is wasting time with your childish antics.", Arthur spat, crossing his arms over his chest. Alfred took off Texas to rub his face tiredly.

"If you are just going to lecture me…", Alfred sighed replaced his glasses to slide off of the crates. Arthur's stomach clenched, realizing he didn't want the other to leave. This was the first time they had actually sat down together in centuries, just the two of them.

"Wait….", Arthur said softly, catching Alfred's sleeve with light fingertips. The American looked back at him surprised but relented, sitting back down again.

"Well?", Alfred prompted after a moment of long silence, one he really didn't want to prolong further. He was full of an odd mixture of emotions. Though uncomfortable by being in the other's presence, Alfred felt strangely giddy from it as well, the spot on his arm where Arthur had touched it still tingling. He also was getting a good chance to study the Englishman at leisure, who seemed to be lost in thought at the moment. The bright green of his military uniform looked wonderful against his creamy skin and pale hair. It made his already amazing eyes fairly pop as well. The cut of garment was also very complimentary to his slim, wiry frame. Alfred found himself especially liking the boots, the footwear lacing tightly up lithe legs to the knee, the leather polished to an immaculate mirror like quality. Arthur shifted uneasily under the intense scrutiny, finally noticing it.

"Why did you come to visit me that one time?", he ventured hesitantly to Alfred's stunned returned look. Arthur watched as the American dissolved into laughter.

"You came all this way to ask me that?", Alfred chuckled to rise of a responding blush.

"No! Of course not!….I just wanted to know is all. It is beyond rude to sneak into one's country and just leave without uttering a word.", Arthur snapped, launching an acid green glare at the other. Alfred met it with thoughtful azure eyes, considering the statement for a moment before answering, debating internally on what to tell him. Alfred really didn't know why himself.

"For shits and giggles. I was bored.", Alfred settled. He was met with a hard look of disbelief.

"Really…You came all that way over by boat to perform an intricate routine all because you were, dare I say it, bored.", Arthur said dryly to Alfred's answering smirk.

"I performed that trick all over Europe for your information, not just for you. England happened to be the last stop for the show. I killed in Paris and Berlin I'll have you know. You were the only one who figured it out it was me though I'll give you that..", Alfred rambled absently, fishing a bar of chocolate out of his pocket.

Peeking over at the other nation, Alfred noticed Arthur was trying not to watch him unwrap the candy, feigning failed indifference. Alfred bit his tongue in surprise to keep from saying something. He hadn't realized Arthur liked chocolate, much less sweets. Upon further reflection though on his part, Alfred vaguely remembered the other liked taking his tea strong, but sweet with three lumps of sugar and just a touch of cream.

Snapping the bar in half, Alfred casually offered it to the Brit, who looked back at it like it was going to bite him.

"Take it. It's not Cadbury but it's decent enough.", Alfred said lightly. Arthur was going to decline, had all intention of doing so until the distinct smell of it wafted sweetly up to him. He gingerly accepted it, nibbling at the bar to make it last. Alfred nommed his down, not really caring. He was more interested in watching the Englishman eat his. Alfred found himself wondering what the chocolate would taste like on his lips.

Alfred's cheeks burned at the sudden unbidden thought as he turned slightly away to study a particularly fascinating stain on his pants….what was that? dirt or engine grease…Hmmmm….Nope, just dirt….yup….

Alfred risked a glance up to see Arthur licking the last of the chocolate off of his fingers with small delicate swipes of a pink tongue. Alfred choked for air, a fairly large amount of blood suddenly deciding to migrate southward.

"Are you alright?", Arthur asked, as the American appeared struggling to breathe.

"Yup, yes, sure, just fine and dandy….All this….air….Yeah, there is just so…..so much of it….Heheh…", Alfred babbled, face palming mentally as Arthur gave him an odd look.

"Well Iggy if that is all, I really got to…..", Alfred started to get up in a form of retreat to the enraged sputtering of the other.

"Iggy! What the hell is that all about!? You know my name!", Arthur growled.

"No, not really. You got so many of them. Whenever you figure out that yourself and what I can call you, tell me.", Alfred grinned, shoving his hands into this pockets as he started to wander off.

"Where are you going!? We are not done!", Arthur yelled, getting up ready to give chase if need be.

"Let's be done for today.", Alfred said suddenly, stopping but not turning around.

"Why!?", Arthur snapped, watching the American's broad shoulders sag a little.

"Because…..it was nice talking to you and I don't want to ruin the first conversation we have had in centuries with a fight.", Alfred said softly.

Arthur grew still, unsure of what to do, so he watched how the light wind played with Alfred's darker golden hair, enjoying the sparkle of it. Arthur found himself wanting to be that breeze.

"Tell you what….", Alfred said, licking his lips nervously," I'll give you a pass, just you, so that you can come by whenever you want to talk to me. I'm still not going to be a part of your little group but I will do everything I can to support you. Sound fair?".

Arthur considered it. He could throw a fit(And well be within his rights to do so, thank you very much) but it would accomplish nothing. Alfred had point though. He was right….it had been pleasant…..brief, but pleasant.

Alfred turned back to see the Arthur nod at him before turning sharply on his boot heel to promptly leave, his own thoughts a jumbled, confused mess of mixed emotions.

Alfred watched him go, sighing to himself even as grin graced his tanned features.

It was a start at least.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOO  
Like setting suns at the rodeo  
Trying to find someone you'll never know

Oh, sinking love  
On the cloud of unknowing

AN-The first part of the flashback story is set about 10-12 years after the Dance story in Part 2 of this series.

The second flashback is set in WWI.

Time to learn something- All history provided by Wikipedia-I do not own any of it

US involvement in WWI  
The United States was never formally a member of the Allies but became a self-styled "Associated Power". The United States had a small army, but, after the passage of the Selective Service Act, it drafted 2.8 million men and by summer 1918 was sending 10,000 fresh soldiers to France every day. In 1917, the U.S. Congress gave U.S. citizenship to Puerto Ricans when they were drafted to participate in World War I, as part of the Jones Act. Germany had miscalculated, believing it would be many more months before they would arrive and that the arrival could be stopped by U-boats.

The United States Navy sent a battleship group to Scapa Flow to join with the British Grand Fleet, destroyers to Queenstown, Ireland and submarines to help guard convoys. Several regiments of U.S. Marines were also dispatched to France. The British and French wanted U.S. units used to reinforce their troops already on the battle lines and not waste scarce shipping on bringing over supplies. The U.S. rejected the first proposition and accepted the second. General John J. Pershing, American Expeditionary Forces (AEF) commander, refused to break up U.S. units to be used as reinforcements for British Empire and French units. As an exception, he did allow African-American combat regiments to be used in French divisions. The Harlem Hellfighters fought as part of the French 16th Division, earning a unit Croix de guerre for their actions at Chateau-Thierry, Belleau Wood and Sechault. AEF doctrine called for the use of frontal assaults, which had long since been discarded by British Empire and French commanders because of the large loss of life.

Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show  
The show began with a parade on horseback, with participants from horse-culture groups that included US and other military, American Indians, and performers from all over the world in their best attire. There were Turks, Gauchos, Arabs, Mongols and Georgians, among others, each showing their own distinctive horses and colorful costumes. Visitors to this spectacle could see main events, feats of skill, staged races, and sideshows. Many authentic western personalities were part of the show. For example Sitting Bull and a band of twenty braves appeared. Cody's headline performers were well known in their own right. People like Annie Oakley and her husband Frank Butler put on shooting exhibitions along with the likes of Gabriel Dumont. Buffalo Bill and his performers would re-enact the riding of the Pony Express, Indian attacks on wagon trains, and stagecoach robberies. Popular myth has it that the show typically ended with a melodramatic re-enactment of Custer's Last Stand, in which Cody himself portrayed General Custer. In fact, the show rarely finished with this display. The majority of the shows ended with an act recreating an attack on a settlers cabin, in which Cody would ride in with an entourage of cowboys on horseback to defend a settler and his family from a band of Indians on horseback. This ending featured predominantly from the show's origins as early as 1886, but vanished after 1907, appearing as the finale in 23 of 33 tours. The show is cited as being responsible for many modern portrayals of "the West" in twentieth century cinema and literature.

Sitting Bull and Buffalo Bill, Montreal, QC, 1885The profits from his show enabled him to purchase a 4,000-acre (16 km2) ranch near North Platte, Nebraska in 1886. Scout's Rest Ranch included an eighteen-room mansion and a large barn for winter storage of the show's livestock.

In 1887 he took the show to Britain in celebration of the Jubilee year of Queen Victoria. The show was staged in London before going on to Birmingham and then Salford near Manchester, where it stayed for five months.

I was actually quoting Queen Victoria in the story. It was an actual compliment she paid to Annie Oakley.

Though I did through some history in the story, I obviously took some liberities with it. It is not meant to be historically accurate.


	4. Chapter 4

The cup of tea had been very good.

Arthur was balls deep down Alfred's throat hitting the back of it mercilessly, his bony fingers dug deep into honey colored gold hair, pulling at it in intervals of suction. Through lust filled emerald eyes, he watched Alfred prepare himself for him, three fingers deep, arching into his violating digits, moaning around his mouthful. The vibrations shook Arthur to his core, letting him know that the other was close and open enough to find his own tender pleasure spot.

"Off and out.", Arthur commanded, pulling sharply at shining strands to emphasize his point. Alfred groaned, shivering as he stopped filling himself on both ends. He sat back pouting as he looked up beseechingly at Arthur, who smirked in return.

"Hands and knees, pet.", Arthur grinned, licking his upper lip slowly with the tip of his tongue in a languid motion. Alfred followed instructions immediately, the American's eagerness drawing out a dry chuckle from his English counterpart. Arthur admired the view, leaning over to run his hands down the lines of a broad muscular back, watching the play of curves and lines, enjoying the roll of power through them. He cupped firm tight butt cheeks to spread them apart achingly wide, making Alfred expose himself more to him. Arthur rubbed his cock in the base of that valley, teasing the puckered entrance there as Alfred trembled underneath the barest of touches in anticipation. Alfred looked over his shoulder at the leering Brit, wordlessly begging for his participation.

"Patience is a virtue.", Arthur sighed hotly, leaning over to let the warm air of his breathe caress sensitive regions that squirmed in response. Arthur traced around the border of the fleshy entrance before him, sliding his head across it lightly to coat it in precum.

"Don't make me beg.", Alfred gasped, as he felt the bulbous head slip in partly to be taken out again too soon. His sadist lover was sweetly torturing him.

"But I love it when you do.", Arthur purred, biting his bottom lip seductively as he eased the tip in again to only extract to an answering groan. Firm hands and hard fingertips kept Alfred in place as this continued over and over again.

"Oh please Mr. Empire, sir. Fuck me blind. I have been ever so good.", Alfred said in a high teasing tone, wiggling his ass. He received a sharp smack for his cheek, yelping at the contact.

"Brat.", Arthur snorted, pushed into that tight heat all the way up to the hilt in one smooth motion. Alfred braced himself up on his forearms, gritting his teeth at the sudden penetration.

"Perverted old man.", he growled back, to be slammed with another hard thrust.

"Hmmm…..I am going to just take this out then since it is obvious you are not enjoying it.", Arthur said lightly, amused to see Alfred throw a frantic look over his shoulder as he pulled out completely to return to the chair.

"You wouldn't…..", Alfred groaned, empty and unfilled. He sat up to watch Arthur settle himself back into the depths of the cushy Chesterfield, seemingly completely oblivious to his own raging hard on as he went back to sipping his tea.

"You know I would, but you can make it up to me.", Arthur mused, quirking a bushy eyebrow at the other. Alfred slowly nodded back, waiting for the other to say his terms.

"How?", Alfred ventured to a responding evil grin.

"Oh….I'll think of something….."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOO  
Every satellite up here is wanting  
Waiting to see what the morning brings  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOO

It had been a hellish aerial battle filled with the bright sparks of gunfire and marked explosions. Arthur had watched with bated breath at the dog fight high over head, the American's distinct plane with it ridiculous grinning face on it was easy enough to spot from its darker attackers. The pair had just returned from Italy, Alfred making a daring and completely ridiculous rescue of his English counterpart which had involved dangling Arthur midair from a length of rope. Arthur still couldn't figure how that had panned out but Alfred had delivered them safely back to base when trouble had appeared on the horizon on swift wings.

Ludwig had sent some of his bombers after them in retaliation. Alfred had taken off within a moment's notice despite being outnumbered five to one. He had faired well enough though, dispatching all of his enemies save for one very talented pilot who was currently painting Alfred's plane with bullets, causing dark smoke to trail from Alfred's wings like billowing feathers. Arthur watched it with horror filled eyes as the manmade bird dipped, struggling to stay up in the air.

It might have ended poorly if not for some last minute reinforcements, driving off the last Nazi so that Alfred could safely land the plane. Arthur had run over to find the bomber and its pilot full of holes.

Alfred turned out to be less worse off than the plane apparently, the nation clinging to the hull of it, weeping for his wounded love. He had to be pulled away from his beloved "Winged Glory" to the infirmary by a very irate Brit.

"Really! Such a fuss over a pile of metal.", Arthur scolded, extracting another slug from Alfred's body. The larger nation released the breath he had been holding. He would not die form his wounds but they still hurt like hell.

"It's not just a 'pile of metal'. She's my baby. I built her from scratch myself.", Alfred sniffled plaintively, wincing as antiseptic was slapped over another seeping hole.

"Fuck! A little warning!", Alfred snapped pulled out of his revelry to adjust his grip on the bed.

"Oh my apologies poppet. I am removing numerous bullets from your body. This is going to sting just a bit.", Arthur said overly sweet, rolling his eyes as he pulled another wound apart to aid in metal removal. Alfred groaned as the forceps scraped cauterized sides, a slick sweat forming on his tanned skin.

"Suck it up! I'm almost done.", Arthur sighed, wanting to soothe away the hurt but not knowing how to really anymore. It wasn't like Alfred had scraped his knees like when he was little, when all wounds could be fixed with a kiss on the cheek, a tight hug, and a (slightly burnt)scone.

"Wonderful bedside manner doc. Been takin lessons from Jack of Ripper?", Alfred grumbled, yelping at a particular painful twist of metal, laced with full intention.

"Oh sorry about that. I slipped.", Arthur said cloyingly sweet.

"Fucking sadist.", Alfred growled, glaring over his shoulder at his 'doctor'.

"What was that, pet?", Arthur cooed, tossing the last bullet into the metal pan to a loud final sound. Alfred huffed into his wadded up uniform, a makeshift pillow, deciding to let it go.

"You are going to have to sit up so that I can clean your wounds and bandage you.", Arthur said gruffly, pulling lightly at an appendage. Alfred sat up groaning, his torso a rough mess though the wounds were already bleeding less and less by the minute.

"Pfffft…If I just lay here, they will probably be all gone by tomorrow.", Alfred complained, his voice colored with tones of exhaustion and pain. He shuddered as more disinfectant stung his skin.

"Well bully for you, but I am your physician and I will not have you bleeding on everything. Blood is horrendous to remove out of fabrics.", Arthur said firmly, wiping away left over blood..

"If you're my nurse, shouldn't you be wearing a cute little pink outfit then?", Alfred quirked, cheekily winking at the other. He was met with a hard look.

"I still have very sharp implements with in reach, pet", Arthur warned, neatly laying out the bandages.

"Sheesh….Can't ever take a fucking joke…..", Alfred sighed, seeming to lose strength as he slouched over into a rough ball. Arthur chewed at his inner cheek as he made the other sit up again with a groan. Alfred was so near, not shying away from him, even leaning into his touch from time to time. Arthur found himself wanting, a burning need deep within him a like a little flame. The American's close proximity to him was like throwing gasoline on it. It flared up with a frightening intensity becoming a forest fire.

It had always been there really, that want, ever since they had met so long ago. It had started out as just pure greed, the need for land, the yearning for the power and wealth that came with it. Along the way though, Arthur had been made to feel. Bright smiles and endless sky eyes filled with love that were only for him and him alone had broken through centuries old walls of mental protection leaving Arthur bare to new emotions and sensations. Greed changed coats from one of power to one of wanting. Wanting to keep all of that precious love to himself and ever let another see it. He had fought himself bloody to protect his little colony, forcefully removing any who had stood in his way or tried to oppose him. For all his best intentions and sins though, he had lost what had been most precious to him….

…But now….Alfred was back…He was back within arm's reach so achingly close, something tangible between them. Arthur could feel it with every brushing touch, could see it with every sideways glance, and could hear it in words that held double meanings. Francis, as per usual, had been the first to point it out. Arthur wanted to smack him for it. As old as he was, Arthur was well aware what was going on. He simply chose not to acknowledge it. Alfred was back and that was all that mattered. To pursue anything other than a friendship would be detrimental. Arthur knew himself very well. He knew if he let himself slip, there would be no stopping it. Arthur was well aware if he let himself fall for Alfred, he was never going to let him go this time.

Finishing with his thought, Arthur realized that a long moment of silence had lapped between them. The English nation licked his lips nervously, unsure of how to fill it's void. It seemed surreal to be with Alfred and silence in the same room. Arthur, a master of small talk due to over a millennia of court, found himself inexplicably without much to say, tongue tied for the first time in centuries. Alfred didn't look like he was going to say anything anytime soon either, the American's eyes closed, his body slumping over in its sitting position. He flinched to a state of awareness when Arthur pressed gauze padding to one of his many wounds. Arthur stumbled mentally for a distraction.

"So…..I read you have deserts." Arthur ventured desperately, remembering something he had seen in a science journal years ago. Alfred blinked in surprise at the statement.

"Yeah, I have tons of them. Why?", Alfred asked, rubbing his eyes tiredly as he took off Texas, setting his glasses off to the side but not before giving the ornery state a warning glare to stay put.

"I just never realized….", Arthur trailed off awkwardly, finding the lack of glass wear on Alfred's visage suddenly very distracting. Sky blue eyes turned to regard him, their full beauty unhindered. It made the nation look younger if not for the age and experience that now jaded those perfect azure blue crystal orbs. Despite himself, Arthur found he could not look away from them, their hue intoxicating leaving the older nation feeling unbearably warm.

Alfred shifted uneasily, waking Arthur back up to reality to realize he had been openly staring. He felt a telltale blush flood his pale skin as he turned his focus back to the bandages and not the heavy silence that now sat like a brick between them.

"Is that too tight?", Arthur asked finally, unable to bear with it any longer. He needed to finish this task and leave as soon as possible, before he lost himself to his desires. That being said, his fingertips lingered seconds longer that they should have over the smooth contours of golden skin, so warm to the touch like it held sunlight itself in its depths.

"Yeah, that's fine.", Alfred mumbled, finding it hard to breath being so close to Arthur. His scent, his warmth, his entire being was too close for comfort. He longed for the Englishman, so much so it physically hurt at times. It had been that way ever side that day in the muddy field under the fall of rain. Alfred had gotten what he had wanted, what his people needed but at a very high price, one he thought he would never see return on. Now though….it gave him such a stupid thrill to be just near Arthur without animosity( well, not the real kind at least). To have the other talk with him, even if it was just battle plans and troop movements left the American feeling happily numb. To ruin that now though…Alfred didn't want to think about it. He had experienced that type of loss before, so he made himself think about baseball instead of the pale gorgeous creature whose touch made his body burn.

Pale digits did not vacate their positions on the planes of his skin though, tenaciously sliding down muscular arms feeling their width to glide back up and over to collarbones and a bobbing Adam's apple as Alfred swallowed hard.

"What are you doing?", Alfred whispered, making a careful study of Arthur's Italian suit to avoid looking at him. It really did look good on him, though his pale golden hair was back to its normal mess, the mid air plane rescue a heavy factor in that.

"You grew up….." was all that Arthur murmured in response, his fingers doing all of the talking for him as they fanned out to cup a squareish chin, tracing its strong line.

"You just noticed?", Alfred snorted, trying not to react to these odd slow shows of rare affection. He wasn't sure what Arthur was playing at. He hadn't touch him like this…..hell, at all…in centuries, ever since he was a tiny colony(and definitely not in the same manner as this). Alfred wanted more than anything to capture those wandering hands between his own and cover their very existence with his lips. He had never thought hands were sexy until Arthur. Pale, finely formed with long slender digits, they moved with an unnatural grace and precision whether it was warfare or embroidery. He wanted to kiss their tips, suck on their length, nibbled at the meat of their palms and delicate wrists, and whisper secrets into their fortune lines.

Alfred ended up making himself blush at his own thoughts, ducking he head. He moved from that seeking grasping, looking away almost desperately. To his dismay, the other moved with him, ending the gap between their bodies to sit down next to him. Alfred looked back in shock, not bothering to cover up his surprise. He was met with a level emerald look, filled with a hunger, hazy with a heat that made Alfred shiver. Arthur reminded him of a predator suddenly, a cat maybe, sizing up his next canary meal.

"Stop…..just stop it.", Alfred growled, wishing that Arthur would just get all self conscious as per usual and go get a cup of tea or something. When the other made no move to do so though, Alfred decided on making his own tactical retreat until he could sort all this out.

The mere touch of a cool palm on his feverish cheek cleanly stopped any escape attempts as the English nation drew even nearer to him sealing the lines of their bodies.

"Why?", Arthur asked his voice low and husky, that one accented word making every nerve of Alfred's being tingle madly.

"Because you don't mean it…Cause you hate me…..", Alfred found himself babbling, his brain short-circuiting as Arthur drew even closer until their lips were just inches apart.

"What if I do mean it and what if I do not hate you.", Alfred murmured, his sculpted lips brushing the flesh of chapped ones lightly. Alfred parted his mouth to moisten them to find it suddenly filled with Arthur's own slick muscle. Firm fingertips on his jaw kept Alfred's mouth open to be explored at leisure, the Englishman's tongue memorizing every ridge and indentation it seemed. Just when Alfred thought he was going to pass out(and only partly from lack of oxygen), Arthur released him just as abruptly as he had started. Alfred found himself pushed back against the cot, groaning as pressure and the weight of an entire English nation were placed upon his still healing wounds. Alfred panted in pain and in growing desire, his hardening flesh achingly pressed up against Arthur's leg that had somehow settled between his thighs. The island nation smiled as he palmed the erection through layers of clothe watching the other arch his back in reaction to it, accented by more sounds of deep hurt. Despite Alfred's injuries, Arthur would not be detoured from his goal now though, the driving force of want riding him, burning him from the inside out as he tore at boots and clothing frantically to expose as much skin as possible, the American naked in an incredibly short amount of time and laid out before him. Alfred made no effort to stop him, just watched through half lidded eyes, quivering. Arthur paused to stare back to lock gazes with him, his fingers busy removing his own unnecessary clothing.

"Are we really going to do this?", Alfred asked hesitantly, his voice cracking from mixed emotions. Arthur tossed his dress shirt aside, to lean over the American, their chests pressed skin to skin. Arthur ran light fingertips done Alfred's roundish cheeks, tilting his head to the side to expose the corded line of his neck. Arthur press his lips tenderly to the pulse point of it.

"If we do….you must understand it will be forever or never. I will not stand for you being with another after this. If you ever betray me, I will destroy you, I swear it. It may take me centuries, but I will do it. Can you live with that, pet?", Arthur intoned into golden skin. Alfred trembled at the heavy words, causing the other to draw back far enough to look at him. Excepting denial, Arthur nearly faltered when he was met with a soft smile and eyes filled with love.

"I've missed you.", Alfred whispered, as crystalline tears made little silver paths across his skin. He was falling and he didn't care anymore. It was like coming home, or to the end of a long journey. Relief, an odd tiredness, and joy flooded his being making him relax fully, surrendering to his would be captor above him willingly. Arthur could only nod back, his throat too thick with emotion as he leaned back over his former charge. Alfred shuddered as he felt teeth sink into his skin, marking him in shades of bruising and blood. A warm tongue licked at the wound, easing its sting. Alfred closed his eyes, allowing himself to experience this melding through his other senses alone to better memorize them all as it seemed Arthur lose all pretense of patience.

The feel of Arthur's finger upon him as they touched everywhere, exploring places they had never been before to stroke and tease at sensitive flesh. Warm moist breath ghosted over vital regions laid bare as thighs were spread apart, Arthur moving to sit fully between them. Alfred cringed as slick fingers entered him, twisting to stretch him. It was a small pain though, truly ignorable in light of everything else, as a cool hand took hold of his member directly. Alfred's eyes flew back open when a hot mouth swallowed his cock, running a velvety tongue up its length to tease the bulbous tip of it. Alfred leaned up achingly on his forearms to watch Arthur, the Englishman's actions becoming increasingly needy as another finger was added to the fray. Teeth grazed throbbing sides, scraping skin to the sounds of moans as Alfred's head rolled back to his shoulders. It hurt too much to continue leaning up no matter how pleasant the sight, so Alfred flopped back, letting the other nation do whatever he liked…and Arthur did.

By the time the third finger was added to twist and curl, Alfred was at his limit, biting his lip to keep from begging, his hands busy stroking strands of pale gold asking wordlessly for release through touch alone. All of it was taken away though in an instant to leave Alfred feeling void and crying out in loss, his eyes slit to glare up at his smirking tormentor.

"Hush.", Arthur whispered, placing his fingers to abused lip to have them licked. The wet contact made the elder nation gasp, shuddering as he slicked himself with his own essence and salvia. After aligned himself to nudge teasingly at the opening, Arthur planted his hands on either side of Alfred's head so that he could stare down at the American below him.

"You are mine.", Arthur said in a fierce tone as he entered Alfred slowly, branding him with flesh as he made the sensation last as long as possible. Alfred could only pant shallowly in response, his mouth not working properly under the pain/pleasure of being filled so completely. Only when he was deep, did Arthur deign to kiss him, the act itself one of ownership, a marking of tongue and teeth as he started to thrust. Alfred reached up to run his hands down a wiry torso following the lines of it down to swaying hips, feeling the power of muscles working into him, caressing them with encouraging touches, wanting the other to go deeper and faster into him.

Arthur's movement took on frantic motions, pumping in and out of rhythm, Alfred's own neglected erection trapped between them, Arthur's hands more occupied with keeping Alfred's head in place as the ancient left love bites and bruises at his leisure on the New World's throat and jaw. Alfred whined, expressing his needs through meeting thrusts of his own.

Arthur leaned back finally, only pausing long enough to hook the American's long legs over his slender shoulders. Alfred reacted ecstatically to the deeper penetration, the angle rubbing his bundle of nerves in all the right places. Arthur smirked as he grasped the weeping member in front him again, pumping in time to his thrusts, his completion already well at hand as his seed hotly filled the other to the point of leaking. Alfred cried out under the sensation, finally being allowed to finish as he painted the other's hand white with milky fluid.

The two lay there panting as they rode out the remainder of their orgasms, small fine muscles twitching occasionally. Arthur surprised Alfred by drawing away first to clean himself off with some leftover gauze, his expression oddly blank.

Alfred watched him as he redressed himself completely in silence, while the American was too tired to even bother wiping himself down. Feeling crestfallen at the lack of intimate afterglow cuddling, Alfred turned away with a sigh, his bandaged back to the other as the he berated himself for hoping, for giving in, for letting himself be so naive.

Alfred found himself being turned back over by firm but gentle hands that wiped away fluids and sweat, finishing to cover him up with a heavy blanket. Soft lips pressed themselves to a still sweaty brow.

"Don't look so melancholy. I will be back. I still have to give my report to British Intelligence…..and don't you dare even think about making a joke about that.", Arthur softly chided him, stroking at almost feverish rosy cheeks, his clover gaze lingering on a sky toned one. Alfred stared back at him despondently unsure of what to believe.

"Go to sleep, pet. I will be here when you wake up.", Arthur said gently to an answering sigh toned with disbelief. Alfred turned back over unable and unwilling to watch the other leave. Exhaustion flooding his being as Alfred fell asleep, hoping beyond hope, praying that Arthur would be there…..that this was all not just some weird fantasy or dream…and as unlikely as it was, that Arthur would be there for him when he woke up…..

…..and he was.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOO  
May bring sunshine on it's wings  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOO

Alfred sat that the end of the conference table waiting impatiently for the meting to begin. He was starting to remember why he was always late to these things in the first place. All around him countries spoke in their native tongues-German, Italian, Spanish, French, Russian, Chinese, Japanese-all swirling around him in a noisy offbeat melody of constant noise. It was giving Alfred one hell of a headache, but not for reasons anyone would have actually assumed about the burger loving nation.

If he were to say something about it, all the nations would just chalk it up to the American's well known intolerance for 'gibberish' languages and call him an ignorant idiot who couldn't read a map off a Happy Meal box. That could not be further from the truth though(well not the map part, GPS becoming standard in vehicles was partly due to Alfred's influence). It wasn't that Alfred couldn't understand these languages. The real problem was that he could understand all of them, perfectly, every single word uttered.

Every nation could communicate with each other through the 'nation language', a unique tongue established since the beginning and was known inherently by each and every nation in existence. It was the reason why nations like Japan could speak to Germany and be understood. Native tongue of particular lands had to be learned. A nation with an ear and tongue for learning languages, such as England, had the upper hand in situations being able to communicate directly with the locals. A nation could also learn another language effortlessly if they had a population large enough in their lands who spoke it. In that case, the nation could learn it through osmosis of culture.

Alfred's gift and curse lied in the fact that every nation, every culture were apart of his own. He knew most, if not all, of the languages of the world, their many dialects becoming part of him seamlessly due to mass immigration.

Dozens of languages reached him all at once and were translated in his head so that he followed numerous conversation without even really trying. It was giving him one hell of a headache.

When meeting were in session, it was mandatory for all nations to speak in their one tongue so that everyone would follow the meeting, hence why Alfred always tended to be late.

Alfred buried his head into his arms, attempting to escape it all. It was a secret he did not want anyone else finding out, cause all heroes had a back up secret…and it was incredibly useful at times, though it had been terribly tempting during the Cold War to tell Ivan off fluidly in his own native tongue where he could stick his missiles.

A hand on his shoulder made Alfred look up into emerald orbs that held a hint of concern in them behind their mask of feigned indifference.

"Are you alright? You look like you are in pain. Did you eat Taco Bell with McDonalds again? You know what happens when you do that. Fourth meal is not actually a real thing, you know. It is just something you made up as an excuse to binge eat at 4am in the morning.", Arthur lectured, holding up an aspirin bottle. Alfred waved him off irritably.

"Super….just got a damn headache.", Alfred muttered, trying to focus solely on the English spoken to him. He like English, especially since it had been given to him by the one he loved the most in this world. Alfred tried to keep it the main language in his culture because of this, though that was slowly changing. He was just lucky Antonio was so slow on the uptake or else he might of reckoned by now that Alfred could understand him when he was cussing him out. Mexico had already figured it out(at least about the Spanish part after a bad night of tequila shots) but didn't really give a damn. No love was lost between her and Spain either so she wasn't about to help him out by giving him the heads up.

Arthur was still talking about something but honestly, Alfred was just listening to the flow and meter of the wording not the actual content. He often wondered why he never learned to speak with the same accent, it being the same language and all, and Arthur being his teacher of it. Instead, he had multiple accents nationwide, each unique in their own right that didn't resemble an English accent in the slightest.

"Are you even listening to me, git!?", Arthur snapped suddenly, smacking Alfred upside his head. Alfred winced exaggeratedly, giving the English nation his best hangdog expression.

"Sorry. It's turning into a migraine.", Alfred lied, enjoying the look of chagrin on Arthur's face.

"If you want to go out into the stairwell for some respite, I will call you back when the meeting is ready to begin.", Arthur offered rather than apologizing. Alfred nodded in agreement, heading immediately to the side door that let to the bare little landing of stairs, sighing in relief at the blessed silence of the vacant space.

There was a small window illuminating the bare cement and metal railings. Alfred leaned up against it, looking out at the blurry shapes through the frosted glass. He didn't mind being alone, not really, actually enjoyed it. Of course being alone and feeling alone are two entirely different things. He found himself idly wondering about the concepts of it as he vaguely acknowledged the door behind him opening and someone entering his quiet moment. The smell of rain and salt left him know that it was Arthur, without the other announcing his presence. What surprised him though was when quick hands unbuckled his belt and jerked down his pants leaving his bare bottom kissing cool air-conditioned air.

"You are such a dirty old man.", Alfred chuckled, not bothering to turn around.

"Belt it and brace yourself.", Arthur snapped in return, freeing his hardon though the front of his slacks. Alfred felt a slick head brush up against his entrance to push past the fleshy barrier, Arthur sheathing himself in one fluid movement.

"You carry lube on you. Why am I not surprised? And thanks the foreplay there. You are such a damn gentleman.", Alfred grunted, leaning back as he spread his legs to better accommodate his lover.

"You are still open from last night and this morning. I like you better this tight and you know you love it anyway.", Arthur smirked darkly, setting a quick pace, his thrusts jabbing in to the slap of skin. He quickly found the other's prostate to start abusing it mercilessly. Alfred pushed back in time, gritting his teeth in between hot pants of air.

"I didn't realize 'I'll get you when the meeting starts' was code for 'I want to rabbit fuck you'. Did you even remember to lock the door?", Alfred teased to be answered back with deeper, savage thrusts that almost sent him to his knees.

"Be a love and do shut the fuck up. Of course I remembered to. I would never hear the end of it from the frog.", Arthur panted, smacking Alfred's ass hard enough to leave a vivid red handprint for emphasis. Alfred arched his back into, finally giving into the impulse to sink to his hands and knees so that Arthur could pound him into the concrete. He also grew quiet waiting for what he wanted to hear most.

"Rwyf wrth fy modd I chi."

"Is bre`a liom t`u"

"Tá grá agam duit."

Arthur never said 'I love you'….at least not in English but in all fairness neither did Alfred. The most he ever said was 'I missed you'. For some unknown reason though, Arthur would repeatedly tell him those three little words in Celtic, in Welsh, in Irish, any of his old languages besides modern English. He practically showered the American with those beautiful words when they were together in the most intimate of positions.

They had been together now for decades so it seemed kind of silly after sixty five years of a 'Special Relationship' not to say it. Maybe it was time to change that…

Arthur dragged Alfred's attention back to the sweaty presence with a particularly hard thrust, gripping tanned thighs tightly. Slim fingers dug deeply into toned flesh leaving behind perfect indentations of crescent moons as the Brit came gushing in his release. Alfred arched into it, gripping his own erection as he pumped out his own completion, coating the bare cement with a fresh coat of white.

Alfred sagged forward tiredly as Arthur withdrew to tuck himself back into his slacks. A quick straightening of his clothing and a spritz of cologne completed a dignified look despite having sex just seconds ago. Alfred rolled his eyes at the smug Brit, standing up finally. He would have to go get cleaned up now, which meant being late to the meeting….again. He shrugged at the thought, the concept not really bothering him as he tried to remember where the closest bathroom was. He was surprised when his boxer and pants were pulled up tightly, the leaking mess starting to seep into the fabric.

"What the hell?!", Alfred snapped, feeling cooling essence starting to ooze out of him. This was going to get increasing more uncomfortable as time went on. He found himself dragged forward by a cocky Englishman.

"Meeting is about to start poppet.", Arthur grinned evilly, already flinging the door open so that Alfred could not run off.

"And the cum wedgie, asshole?", Alfred growled softly through the fake smile he presented to the room.

"Something to remember me by. I am especially looking forward to your presentation.", Arthur snickered, taking his seat as the pair ignoring the irate German calling for order and demanding what caused them to hold up the start of the meeting.

Alfred glared back at him, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He waited until Arthur had taken a sip of his tea, the cup hovering near his lips, leaning over to whisper softly into his ear.

"Ddyledus gennych i mi bar newydd o dillad isaf."

Alfred sat back to enjoy the sight of Arthur simultaneously choking on his drink as he spill tea down the front of his suit to gape back at the smug American. Alfred just grinned back. They were going to have one hell of an interesting conversation later. He wouldn't have it any other way.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOO  
On the cloud of unknowing  
My world seems open  
Every satellite up here is watching  
But I was here from the very start  
Trying to find a way to your heart

All the days are forgetting  
They've gone out with the tide  
Lost at sea somewhere, waiting  
Like setting suns at the rodeo  
Trying to find someone you'll never know

Oh, sinking love  
On the cloud of unknowing  
Every satellite up here is wanting  
Waiting to see what the morning brings  
May bring sunshine on it's wings

- The Gorillaz

AN-First flashback is obviously set in WWII at the beginning of the Special Relationship that just celebrated its 65th anniversary.

Second flashback is set in modern times. Please don't flame me if the translations are wrong. I used a program.  
'I love you' was spoken in Welsh first, Irish second and Scottish Gaelic third.

The last line was spoken in Welsh and it means 'You owe me a new pair of underwear."


End file.
